


chocolate mints

by preromantics



Category: Glee
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:43:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt never asks where Blaine gets his endless supply of mints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chocolate mints

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet for a Tumblr prompt! _professorbutterscotch asked you: prompt: klaine. breath._

When they move in together for real, just them, their apartment is only three rooms with two doors — the actual door to the apartment and one that thankfully closes off the bathroom from the kitchenlivingofficeroom and the bedroom which only has a wide arch in the wall instead of a door, that Kurt eventually wants to put some sort of carved wood doors on when he can find the perfect ones at the little flea market that pops up two blocks over every month (“ _not_ saloon style, Blaine, come on, do you really want to be the guys with the saloon doors leading to their bedroom? Don’t say yes.”) — Blaine leaves little chocolate mints on both of their pillows every night. 

Neither of them usually eats the chocolate after the first few months, and sometimes if they’ve had too much wine and fall into bed tangled and naked and hazy and touch-warm, Kurt wakes up the next morning with chocolate half unwrapped and stuck to his hair and a chocolate stained lip mark on his shoulder where Blaine must have rolled over in the middle of the night and eaten his and kissed Kurt.

(Once, stressed from work even though he loves it, hating where they live because they can afford better but don’t want to break their lease, even though on most days he loves the hiss of the radiator and the way the floors slope in the kitchenette so Blaine can wrap himself perfectly against Kurt’s back while Kurt pours them both coffees in the morning, Kurt asks: “Do you keep putting the mints out because I have chronic halitosis?”

And Blaine’s face scrunches up and he kisses Kurt’s nose and laughs, “of course not! Don’t you remember the first night we moved in, you said you wished we could afford to live in the Plaza, and have turn down service every night with little fancy mints on the pillows.”)

Kurt never asks where Blaine gets his endless supply of mints. He likes the pattern of it, hates the week Blaine has to go away for training for his new job and there aren’t mints getting lost in the sheets on the bed.

Blaine does it every night possible, and Kurt loves it, loves every little thing Blaine does that reminds Kurt how loved he is. 

Seven months into the routine, Blaine forgets, and Kurt notices instantly. “Blaine?” he calls, leaning so he can see into the living room where Blaine is blowing out the candles they’d had on for movie night. “Are we out of chocolate mints?”

“I thought I put them on the pillow!” Blaine calls. “Check underneath, maybe it slipped under there?”

Kurt makes a face at him, because why would it have fallen all the way under? But he lifts the pillow up anyway and there’s — well, there’s definitely something under the pillow and it’s not a chocolate at all.

“Blaine?” he calls, not sure it comes out all the way, but Blaine is right there behind him in a second, hands coming out to curl against his waist. 

“Open it,” Blaine says, when Kurt can’t seem to get himself to move and reach out for the little black velvet box sitting on the sheets where his pillow just was.

Kurt does, slowly, holding his breath, as Blaine drops his hands and stands back to watch. When he opens it, Kurt laughs, high and happy; inside the box is a origami ring made up of chocolate mint wrappers. “Blaine,” he says, fond and exasperated and maybe a little shaky all at once. 

When he turns around to tug Blaine to him, though, Blaine is on his knees, bent over in the little space between their bed and the wall in their tiny apartment, another box open in his hand, this time with a real ring. 


End file.
